


Grey

by captainkaramerica



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Baby Rey, But she loves him anyway, Dependent Behavior, F/M, Forehead Kisses, HE SCREAM AT OWN ASS, He Seen, Tags Subject to Change, ben has big-brotherly feelings for rey, ben needs rey more than rey needs him, but the codependency is really one-sided, force vision, generally just lots of hugs and cuddling, is that what you would call it, lots of overdramatic pre-kylo ben, lukes now-defunct padawan school??, or like codependency, possessive ben??, rey sees right through his shit, reylo valentine's day exchange thing, she's not actually a baby she's just really young, v overprotective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkaramerica/pseuds/captainkaramerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Solo, at his best, can pretend to be as stable as the others; at his worst, it takes physical effort not to rip apart his skin and let the darkness emerge in its place. There's only one other person who understands him, and her presence seems to dim the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Self-Pity, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ughwhyben (hakuen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakuen/gifts).



> valentine's day reylo gift exchange for ughwhyben!  
> there's probably some tense change in there somewhere since i'm used to writing in second person but "you" pronouns don't necessarily fit as well with reylo,,,  
> kill me

Ben Solo is not, strictly speaking, a flawless example of how an aspiring Jedi should behave; nor is he completely _good_. He's not evil, of course, although there are whispers in the night of power and potential infamy. He is the grey between, a single flower in a field of grass, and oftentimes it feels (as cliché it is to admit) that he has no one in the world. He admires his mother, with her quiet authority--a trait he's often wished upon himself--and even enjoys his uncle's well-meaning witticisms about his stature or features. His father is the odd one out, lacking any sort of Force-sensitivity, and yet Ben is the boy whose questions are ignored more often than not. They are all preoccupied with themselves or each other, and Ben is left to rot. 

He catches himself, when meditating alone, wondering whether he is only projecting his preconceived notions of his family upon his father, his mother, his uncle; whether they are truly supportive and Ben is the one who rejects them with blatant disregard, but it is cast aside as soon as it crops up. It's during one of these troubling sessions, the tide of his soul ebbing farther out to the sea of darkness which tempts him so, when a small voice disturbs him. 

Ben wonders whether he had imagined the distraction when he opens one eye, peering out for the source of the disturbance and finding nothing. He again straightens his back, breathes in, and nearly chokes when a warm hand slaps his cheek.

It's too small to be his uncle, but perhaps it belongs to a youngling. He reaches out, long fingers curling around a narrow wrist, and addresses the intruder.

She is, without a doubt, a youngling--far too small to have advanced enough to become a Padawan, like himself. A surge of pride at the thought is quelled when he remembers that _there is no emotion, only peace_ , and the girl, so much smaller than he, shudders as though she can feel the thoughts pounding about the interior of his skull. Her face is rounded, even cherubic in its childlike innocence, and then she bites him. Hard. He releases his grip on her wrist and struggles not to cry--that had hurt. 

She isn't running away, though. Only looks up at him with morbid curiosity, and Ben resists the urge to tell her to _go_ , that it's not her place to interfere with the training of a Padawan. He instead lets her wide eyes rove over him while he nurses the wound she'd so graciously bestowed upon his forearm.

"They said you were bad," she says simply. "I wanted to fight you."

"Naturally, of course, you felt the need to interrupt my meditation and _slap_ me?" Ben rises, and the girl seems unafraid--despite his terrific advantage in height. "Who's really the bad one here?"

She opts not to reply and instead comments on his height. "So I've heard," Ben replies irritably; in her small, warbling voice she claims she'll be taller than him someday. As of right now, he observes dryly, she hardly reaches his mid-thigh.

"I'm sure you will," he murmurs, and he looks out across the commons before there's a tug on the hem of his tunic.

"Are you really bad?" Ben has to nearly fold himself in half just to meet her eyes, and he shakes his head without vigor. 

"I knew it," she says. "I told them you weren't bad, mostly because you don't _feel_ bad. Sometimes, I can feel how light someone is, and you don't feel very dark at all." Her reply catches him off-guard; he's so used to the simple, repetitive adage of "He's not bad, he's Luke's nephew!" that it's somehow refreshing to be addressed so frankly.

"Thank you," he says, and in a movement that surprises him more than her, Ben reaches out to hug the girl. She hardly reacts save for the arms that wrap around him in return, and he has to suppress a laugh as her hands struggle to meet each other across the vast expanse of clothed flesh.

There's a pause, and then a small, invasive voice worms its way inside his head, the timbre light and unsteady and matching that belonging to the girl in his arms. _I don't know your name_.

_Ben Solo. Ben._ And then, because he has no particular urge to come off as rude, he asks, _What's yours?_

_Rey_.

It is, perhaps, the most soothing name he's heard in quite a while.


	2. Nightlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like. a month after the initial meeting??? idk guys i'm really. frazzled right now but i always have time for reylo  
> also i'll try to do an update every day?? i'm fuck-deep in uni rn so i wont be able to post as much as i'd like but,  
> what can you do,

She is only addressed with twisted, rude insults meant to damage her psyche, but to Ben's surprise (and begrudging happiness) she remains by his side. She seems to have taken it upon herself to defend him, and it would be quite cute were it not for her woeful lack of practical training—truthfully he tends to perform most of the protecting. When she rushes towards him (following a flurry of particularly nasty comments), rounded jaw quivering and wide eyes glossed over with sorrow, he sweeps her up in his embrace and adorns her cheeks with kisses until her tears echo the happiness he manages to coax from her heart. She returns the favor by refusing to sleep in her quarters and opts instead to hold him at night, keeping the voices and nightmares at bay with the pure concentration of _light_ that dominates her soul. 

_She will die._

The night is humid, but the sweat that coats his neck is not a byproduct. It is not the first time the whispers threaten harm upon the child, who rests so peacefully beside him, and he sweeps her up, his gestures panicked and frenzied. There is no indication that Rey is awake, save for the bare arms that wrap around his neck--she'd realized quite a while back that Ben was simply _too big_ for her to hug him properly.

"It's okay, Ben," she murmurs, voice slurring through her semiconscious state. "I promise I'll protect you."

Her words are somehow comforting, and he focuses on _her_ in an effort to quell his familiar demons. She fits comfortably within his embrace, and the sudden realization of how codependent the two of them are upon each other hits him with enough force to send him reeling. He protects her physically, and she defends him spiritually, emotionally, mentally--offering him the sort of support he'd been denied whilst living within the confines of his previous residence. Leia Organa, Han Solo--the names, memories, _abandonment_ mean little compared to the wonderful entity who had somehow managed to burrow her way into his (wholly imperfect) soul.

It's ridiculous, embarrassing, shame-inducing to admit that if he were separated from her, he would collapse in on himself entirely. "Thank you," he breathes, hardly audible to himself over the roar of emotion ricocheting about his skull. She is bewildered, but presses a pair of lips softly against his cheek. There is no romance behind the gesture; merely a way to pacify his fears that haunt him so. 

The mornings are no longer dreadfully dull, and between the two of them they assist each other. He guides her through the meditative process, and she shows him her sublime skills in melee combat—advanced for an adult, let alone someone as small, as young, as thin as she. He is, suffice it to say, thoroughly impressed with her discipline; Rey echoes his movements as though she were his shadow, sitting cross-legged amongst the clearing he had first been acquainted with her presence. Because she is too small to effectively correct his posture during _her_ lessons, however, she's made it a point to berate him mentally--which involves her voice nudging its way gently through his mind. It's more comforting, he thinks, than it is irritating. But it is fun to toy with her--she is, after all, a child. It is a small miracle that she plays along, being too perceptive not to pick up on his games.

Evenings are spent eating with each other. She has a particular fondness for the Wasaka-berry pudding he saves for her, perpetually cold to the touch and difficult to sneak away from the kitchens--although he does so for her. Rey returns the favor by plucking the weeds from the commons and stringing them together to craft necklaces, colorful buds and rich greens strung around his neck. It is odd, he thinks, that they are constantly trying to best each other--amusingly, he observes with dry wit, through expressing their compassion for the other.

It is not uncommon for her consciousness to slip within his, but it happens most often at nights--those when his dreams are devoid of light, when unseen voices tear at the fabric of his sanity. Each day begins and ends in a fashion similar to the last, with the taste of stolen pudding on her lips and pollen in her hair, and he with both his arms and mind full of a girl that serves as the beacon to his lost soul.


	3. A Step Forward; A Step Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: trite n overused plot device ahead (force vision)  
> also people are talking about vaping to get high at uni and im fucking cackling help
> 
> UPDATE: 600 VIEWS..... YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS IS THE MOST IVE EVER GOTTEN.....

Ben is berated for having such a strong bond with Rey. She is but a child, so she is forgiven; but Ben is a Padawan. He cannot allow anything, _especially_ something as small as a child, distract him from utilizing his full potential. 

Or so Master Luke, his _uncle_ , would have him believe. If Ben were honest with himself, perhaps giving into the velvet temptation of the darkness that rests just below his skin would be preferable to abandoning Rey—all for the sake of a future as a _monk_. The voices have changed their tactics accordingly; instead of threatening Rey, they suggest that he protect her. In the crushing, humid blackness of the nights spent with her, the once-unappealing offers begin to seem all the more preferable to foregoing all emotion and leaving her to rot. To rot, to struggle, to be someone else's burden—as Leia Organa and Han Solo did to him.

_They do not understand you. They fear you. Your emotion._

_My emotion,_ Ben responds. _I have no desire to abandon Rey, as my parents did._

The day, he observes, is still and humid, with nary a breeze to speak of; sweat beads across his neck and drips past the neckline of his tunic, enhancing his discomfort. The way his skin crawls now, the voices now irreversibly entrenched within his psyche, do nothing to lessen his vexation. His time spent meditating, once able to allow him to feel the ebb and flow of the Force, are now windows for the tendrils of dark temptation to worm their way through his subconscious.

But, he thinks, would eliminating the light from the very fiber of his being mean, by extension, eliminating _Rey?_ Truly at this point, and as humbling as it is to admit, she's perhaps his only anchor to the light. Were it not for her, Ben observes, he'd have let the darkness in months ago. As much protection as the vehicles of iniquity offer her, she'd have to be terminated. The thought of harm brought to her, and by his hand, is enough to send him into an anger-fueled trance.

He hardly has time to make it to his chambers before destroying everything in sight. The bureau is the first to go, as is the mirror cracked from a previous tantrum. He is a flurry of destruction, of terror, of every emotion he was taught from birth to suppress. Anger is the red of the sunset; hate the black of his hair as it flies about in his furor. And there's a touch of fear, of sadness; it is the color of Rey's wide eyes, stretched in her innocent bewilderment. She steps foward, and he collapses, too tired to continue but still frothing with rage.

She ignores the shattered remnants of Ben's bedroom, of the ruined pallet she'd slept with him on, and stretches her arms out. He folds himself within her grasp, hands chubby (as is customary with those of her age) and hardly articulated and yet somehow soothing. "Ben," she whispers, voice strong and steady and something for him to anchor his soul upon, "you're not bad. You said so yourself. And even if you were, I would still be here. Everyone gets angry." Then, when his tears seep through her thin tunic, she murmurs, "Don't cry. Remember what you told me? You said, 'Rey, if you're lonely or sad or scared, think of an island. There's water there and grass and trees and flowers.'"

So he does follow his own advice, and thinks of somewhere far away. A snowy planet, with trees and a woman. She is taller than him—it is a strange sensation. He realizes that he's splayed upon the ground, and in her hand is a blinding beam of controlled light, blue in hue. But he cannot rise. The planet splits apart, but he is helpless—in pain, so much pain, physical and emotional and—

"Ben!"

Then his father. But he cannot see him clearly—and his response is not his own. It is a taunt. For all his faults, he thinks, Han Solo has always made an effort to be _there_ for him. And then emptiness.

"Rey!"

A stranger, calling a familiar name; in his arms is the woman who had stood above him in the snow while he lay prone and exposed. He looks back, and the figure pushing its way through a myriad of rubble is unfamiliar. His arms tighten around the female in response—but the name he'd called her sends him out of his trance.

"Ben?" Rey is calling out to him. They sit together in the present, surrounded by his broken furniture— _you did this, you lost control,_ he screams at himself—

"Ben," she repeats, but in her voice there is an underlying layer of fear. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." 

It isn't the first lie he's told—but the first he's ever said to her. 

It hurts, but not as much as it would by telling her what he'd just seen.


End file.
